You Lucked Out
by TheApprehensiveArtist
Summary: Sherlock breaks his arm on St. Patrick's Day as a child. Mycroft and Mummy are there to save him. A cute one-shot that features an adorable 9 year old Sherlock and his protective big brother.


Warm sunlight filtered through the rustic, white paned window onto the chilled hardwood floor. Sherlock welcomed the warmth on the uncharacteristically sunny day as he sat and devoured his favorite book on that cold oak floor. It had seemed, up until now, that the sky would stay gray forever and that the rain would certainly turn to a flood and sweep them all away. But today, however, was pleasant and mild; a friendly reminder that spring was finally here.

Spring weekends were Sherlock's favorite kind of weekends. Unlike winter, the days began to stretch out, and he could spend more time studying plants and animals outside in warmer weather. Autumn marked the start of school, and Sherlock most decidedly did not like school. Children were cruel and immature. They didn't understand Sherlock and his love for science and nature and figuring out why things worked the way they did. Besides, schoolwork was a waste of time. He'd finish it quickly and often carelessly so that he could continue on with studies of his own. Of course, this sometimes led to silly mistakes that cost him higher marks on his work and lectures from his teacher and mother telling him that he needed to slow down and _think. _

And summer. Summer weekends were absolutely the worst kinds of weekends. In the summer, Sherlock's cousins came to visit for weeks at a time. Sherlock was the youngest of them all. Most of his cousins were closer to Mycroft's age or older, so they excluded Sherlock from almost all of their activities. If he was included, it was typically because they knew Sherlock would somehow end up humiliating himself, and they would all get a nice laugh out of it.

So, spring weekends were Sherlock's favorite kinds of weekends.

A bird was singing just outside of that white paned window in Sherlock's bedroom and it distracted him from his book. Curious, Sherlock climbed onto his bed and peeked out his window to see if he could spot the creature that was the cause of his distraction. He looked up and out of the window and into the branches of the common Ash tree that grew behind the house. The leaves still hadn't started growing on the tree yet, and Sherlock was sure that if they had, he would have missed seeing the characteristic red face and yellow wing of the European Goldfinch perched on a limb that was bouncing up and down in the breeze.

A grin spread on Sherlock's face. He'd read about these birds before, and he was sure he had probably seen them before in his life, but not before knowing so much about them. He eagerly began running to the back garden to see if he could get a closer look at the bird, all while going through the scientific classification in his head. He was so excited that he easily forgot to put on a coat.

He burst through the garden gate and rushed over to the tree, eyes wide as he searched for the bird. Fortunately, the bird let out a pleasant song and Sherlock was able to locate the bird quickly. He stood for just a few moments at the base of the tree, watching the bird as it continued to sing on it's branch in the tree.

_If only I could get closer…_ Sherlock thought to himself. Walking closer to the tree, Sherlock jumped up and reached for a low hanging branch, hoisting himself on top of it. And then, he continued.

He didn't initially plan on climbing up so high. Of course, once he got even remotely close to the bird, it flew away. Sherlock had looked down then, and had felt a thrill at being up so high. Looking up, he wondered to himself, _I wonder what the world would look like if I was all the way up there? _So he continued his ascent, until he reached up and knew that the next branch wouldn't hold his weight. He was almost to the top of the tree. Looking out, he saw the edge of his parents' property that was marked with a fence right before a line of trees began. From the ground, he was not able to see so far out. In the distance, beyond the trees, he was quite certain he even saw the sun glinting off of a pond.

The view was breathtaking. The sky was clear blue, and Sherlock could feel the sun shining warmly on his face. He sat there for quite awhile until the breeze started to chill him and he remembered that he had forgotten his coat inside. It was then that his older brother Mycroft came into the back gardens and began calling for Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft called, scanning the garden, "It's time for lunch. Mummy wants you to come in now."

Looking down, Sherlock felt an overwhelming rush of vertigo. His grip on the branch tightened and his heart began pounding. Mycroft looked like a tiny ant from all the way up here. Shaking, he called out to his brother.

"Mycroft!"

Mycroft stopped walking around the garden and called out again, "Sherlock? Where in the world are you?"

"Up here!" Sherlock shouted. He hated the sound of his voice just then. It was filled with panic and fear and it didn't sound at all like the brave little boy he thought he was being when he had first clamored up into this tree.

Mycroft turned and looked up into the tree. He shifted a bit closer and Sherlock could see the moment Mycroft located him among the branches because his eyes got very wide and his jaw dropped open.

"Sherlock! How did you get all the way up there?!" Mycroft shouted. He seemed angry.

"I climbed!" Sherlock said proudly.

"Yes, it appears that you did." Mycroft said. Mycroft's voice was almost inaudible to Sherlock if he wasn't shouting. "Get down from there!" Mycroft shouted at Sherlock.

"Erm… ok." Sherlock replied.

Climbing up had seemed so much easier. The branches had seemed so much closer together than they did now. Carefully, he turned himself around on the limb he was on and attempted to lower himself to the branch below himself. His feet touched the branch and that's when Sherlock realized what the real problem was. How was he going to bend or sit to get on this branch without falling? He couldn't hold onto the branch above him and bend or sit simultaneously. He was going to have to cling to the tree trunk and shimmy down until he could sit on the branch.

He let go with the hand closest to the trunk first, his right hand, but he almost lost his balance and he frantically grabbed back on to the branch above him.

"Careful!" Mycroft shouted, worry etched into his voice and on his face. Mycroft stood powerlessly at the bottom of the tree, unsure of how to help his little brother.

Heart racing, hands and knees and every part of him shaking, Sherlock took a second to try to calm himself. His second attempt was successful, though he did scrape up his fingers a bit. Finally, he sat on the branch and felt relief, as it seemed that he was already halfway down the tree. Sherlock was going to have to utilize the same strategy on getting to the next branch. He turned himself around on the limb he was on, and slowly lowered himself. He could feel his arm muscles straining to support his weight as he reached out with his feet to find the next branch. Unfortunately, the branch wasn't directly below, but slightly in front of where Sherlock's feet were reaching. Panic gripped him when his feet didn't find a place to land. Sherlock realized he couldn't hold on much longer and tried to pull himself back up onto the branch. But it was too late.

"SHERLOCK!" he heard Mycroft cry out.

Sherlock closed his eyes as his fingers slipped from the branch and he crashed and tumbled his way down and out of the tree. Before he knew his, he was on the ground on his back, right arm throbbing mercilessly. He tried to take in a deep breath but found he could only wheeze and cough.

"Sherlock?" he heard his brother speaking to him. Sherlock opened is eyes and saw his brother kneeling over him.

"You've just gotten the wind knocked out of you, Sherlock. Your diaphragm is spasming. It'll stop in a few moments; just try to breathe through your nose and out your mouth. Like this," Mycroft breathed in dramatically through his nose and let the air out of his mouth slowly.

Sherlock frowned but did as he was told and by the third time he inhaled, he felt normal again. Except for his arm. That was decidedly not normal. Once he'd caught his breath, Sherlock tried to sit up, but Mycroft put a strong hand on his shoulder and made him lie back down. Hot tears streamed down Sherlock's face and he couldn't stop shaking. He accidentally let out a whimper.

"Sherlock, you're in shock. It's going to be ok. I just don't want you to move in case you injured your neck or back. Does your neck or back hurt at all?" Mycroft spoke in a calm voice.

Sherlock shook his head, "Just my arm," he said, clutching his arm to his chest.

"Alright. I'm going to call for Mummy, alright?"

Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft shouted for their mother twice before she came running out of the back door to the garden in her bare feet, wiping her hands on her apron.

"What happened?!" she called, seeing Sherlock lying on the ground.

"Sherlock's fallen out of the tree, mummy," Mycroft explained, "I think he needs to go to the hospital."

Their mother ordered Mycroft to stay with Sherlock while she called an ambulance. Within 20 minutes, Sherlock had been strapped on a stretcher with a neck brace on. He felt much calmer, and the pain in his arm wasn't quite so intense, but the way everyone was acting made Sherlock scared that something worse was wrong with him.

Sherlock's mother rode in the ambulance with him all the way to the ER, and held his good hand while the paramedics put his right arm in a sling to immobilize it. After they arrived at the hospital, Sherlock had many scans and X-rays of his head, neck, spine, and arm, but he "lucked out" with just a broken arm. Thankfully, it wouldn't require surgery, just a few weeks in a navy blue cast.

Sherlock broke his arm on St. Patrick's Day when he was 9 years old. Mycroft had been nearly 17 at the time. Now Sherlock was 31 years old on St. Patrick's Day, his right arm in a navy blue cast again. Only this time, instead of falling out of a tree, Sherlock fell from a rusted fire escape staircase while he was chasing after a criminal. John had reacted much the same way Mycroft and his mother did. The paramedics and doctors reacted similarly too, strapping him to a stretcher with a neck brace and sling on him. The doctor said the same thing to him another doctor said to him when he broke his arm at age 9, "You lucked out."

With his arm in a cast though, Sherlock didn't feel so lucky.


End file.
